Page 38 of On the Ropes
Tabitha
Istood outside the Broad Street Diner—open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week—and prepared to take a new job in Austin, Texas.
“Based on the contract, we’re anticipating this to be six months of work,” Meghan, the hotel communications director, was saying.
I leaned against the signpost and faced Broad Street, all lit up with cars. “I really appreciate those connections. I’ve been fascinated with eco-tourism and the way hotels can make climate justice an integral part of the hospitality industry.”
“Oh, of course. We believe it’s essential,” Meghan said. “And as a lifelong Austinite, it’s likely you’ll come here and simply never leave. I’ve seen it happen dozens of times.”
I tilted my head back against the signpost. That was highly unlikely of me.
“I’ve been getting messages about coming to Austin for years from some of my social media followers. I’m long overdue to explore your lovely city.”
“We’ll wait for you to sign the contract, and then we’ll go from there with details and setting up the interviews,” she added.
“Great,” I said cheerfully. “I’ll start booking all of my travel arrangements now. And keep an eye out for my contract.”
We said goodbye and ended our call. I stood by the sign for a few more seconds, tapping my cell phone against the center of my chest. A few days ago, I would have been thrilled at the possibility of heading to Austin, a city renowned for embracing its quirky weirdness. It was a storyteller’s dream. Now I was peering up at the twinkling, amethyst skyline thinking about family dinners and empty lots and Dean’s shy smile.
I shook my head, clearing my confusion, and skipped up the stairs into the diner. A bell rang over the door and my dad popped out from around the counter, tossing a rag over his shoulder. It was boisterous in here as usual, the dinnertime rush a steady tradition. If I closed my eyes, I could have been in middle school again, sitting at the counter with Alexis and doing our homework while sharing a plate of french fries.
My dad opened his arms for a hug. “You got a reservation, or what?”
“Nah. I thought I’d barge in and demand you serve me.”
I stepped back only to have Juliet barrel into my legs with a squeal. I dropped down and lifted her around my waist. She squeezed my cheeks with her hands.
“Hi, Aunty Tabby,” she said.
“Hi, kiddo.” To my dad, I said, “I don’t know what you’re cooking tonight, but I’ve been thinking about a chicken cheesesteak all day.”
He tapped my arm. “You got it. And is that Lin’s photo album?”
I held it in my outstretched hand. “Oh, you mean these pictures of her Saturday Night Fever–themed birthday party? Why yes, yes, it is.”
He gave a funny shrug. “My memory is that I looked good in those silver bell-bottoms.”
Juliet poked my cheeks with her fingers. I made a silly face at her. “I plan to give the best ones to Kathleen so she can put them on your Christmas card this year.”
I walked over to Alexis and Eric in their red vinyl booth.
“Gimme, gimme,” my sister said, taking the photo album. “We promise not to laugh too hard, Dad.”
“I’m unable to make that promise,” Eric said.
Dad’s response was to flash us a mischievous grin as he tossed the towel back over his shoulder. “You laugh now until you’re waiting an hour for your dinner.”
He slipped back behind the counter, and Juliet very seriously slid a coloring book my way with one purple and one green crayon. “Will you color with me?”
“Of course,” I said. “Your mom and I used to come here after school. We’d do our homework while Pop-Pop cooked food for people.”
Alexis snorted. “I learned all of my best curse words as a kid from the people who sat next to us at that counter, yelling at whatever was happening on Action News.”
I leaned over the table to see what pictures she was looking at. They were slightly faded, some more blurry than others. My dad and his sister, Aunt Linda, looked like they’d walked off the set of the Stayin’ Alive music video. He had his arm around her shoulders, and they were laughing outrageously at some joke we’d never know.
“She still has those same curtains,” I said.
“They were legends, man,” Eric said.
